Read Online None but the Dead by Lin Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lin Anderson
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himself. Eventually his not-so-patient silence was rewarded.
‘As you heard from the recording, I believe the victim died in the chair where he was found.’ Sissons took another sip of coffee.
Christ, the man drank coffee as slowly as he thought.
McNab headed for the machine and got himself another double shot to avoid shouting, ‘Just tell me how the fuck he died.’
Eventually Sissons did.
‘If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he probably died of dehydration. In people over fifty, the body’s thirst sensation reduces and continues diminishing with age. Many senior
citizens suffer symptoms of dehydration without even realizing it. In this case, were he tied up in an overheated room for an extended period of time . . .’
‘It would accelerate the process,’ McNab said.
Sissons nodded.
‘To try and establish dehydration as a factor we can test for urea in his blood – which would be high. We can also look for other electrolytes – sodium, potassium and chloride
in the vitreous fluid I took from his eye, although these change after death and are more difficult to interpret.’
McNab was picking up the message that determining exactly who or what was responsible for Jock’s death wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Were the bindings taken off after he died?’ he asked.
‘He’d been tied up, that we have established, but blisters in the periphery of skin marks can also be formed postmortem. We can’t say for definite that he was dead when the
bindings were removed.’
McNab absorbed this. ‘But if he was freed while still alive, wouldn’t he have sought help?’
‘Dehydration can cause hallucinations and confusion and by then he may have been too weak to move from that chair.’ Sissons met McNab’s look. ‘None of which conjures up a
pleasant thought,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re right. It doesn’t.’
‘Did he have a home help or any family member caring for him?’
‘Not as far as we’re aware.’
‘Unfortunately, abuse of the elderly isn’t uncommon. Even within the family.’ Sissons threw his paper cup into the bin. ‘A full report should be with you in a couple of
days, Sergeant, and I’ll pass the clothing on to forensics.’
McNab registered the bite of the wind as he exited the new Southern General Hospital and its £90-million state of the art mortuary and forensic facilities. Gone were the
days of the old red-brick mortuary next to the Crown Court in the Saltmarket where the victims of Scottish serial killers such as Bible John and Peter Manuel had had their post-mortems. McNab
regretted the old mortuary’s passing, but was still impressed by the move to what Glasgow folk had, in their inimitable manner, christened ‘The Death Star’, because of its
space-age design.
And at least you can park here
, he thought as he located his car in the mammoth car park. Once inside, he checked his mobile. There was a message from DI Wilson requesting his presence
and a text from Freya saying she was working on her thesis tonight and couldn’t see him. Nothing from Chrissy and Rhona. It seemed Sanday was proving more interesting than the case
they’d left behind.
McNab started up the engine, wondering why no message from Orkney was more disappointing than Freya’s rejection.
11
The vastness of an Orkney sky was what Rhona remembered most about her last trip here. On Skye the mountains dominated, controlling where light and shadow fell.
Here the sky is bigger than the land or the sea.
Walking home now along the rough track that led to the cottage, the heavens a mass of purple and red, deep blue and black, even Chrissy appeared momentarily silenced by the sight. Either that or
hunger and fatigue had taken over.
They had worked until the diminishing daylight no longer allowed them to distinguish the stratification of the soils. It had been a painstaking business. Working in from the grave cut,
recovering fill longitudinally in spits or small sections no more than
‘As you heard from the recording, I believe the victim died in the chair where he was found.’ Sissons took another sip of coffee.
Christ, the man drank coffee as slowly as he thought.
McNab headed for the machine and got himself another double shot to avoid shouting, ‘Just tell me how the fuck he died.’
Eventually Sissons did.
‘If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he probably died of dehydration. In people over fifty, the body’s thirst sensation reduces and continues diminishing with age. Many senior
citizens suffer symptoms of dehydration without even realizing it. In this case, were he tied up in an overheated room for an extended period of time . . .’
‘It would accelerate the process,’ McNab said.
Sissons nodded.
‘To try and establish dehydration as a factor we can test for urea in his blood – which would be high. We can also look for other electrolytes – sodium, potassium and chloride
in the vitreous fluid I took from his eye, although these change after death and are more difficult to interpret.’
McNab was picking up the message that determining exactly who or what was responsible for Jock’s death wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Were the bindings taken off after he died?’ he asked.
‘He’d been tied up, that we have established, but blisters in the periphery of skin marks can also be formed postmortem. We can’t say for definite that he was dead when the
bindings were removed.’
McNab absorbed this. ‘But if he was freed while still alive, wouldn’t he have sought help?’
‘Dehydration can cause hallucinations and confusion and by then he may have been too weak to move from that chair.’ Sissons met McNab’s look. ‘None of which conjures up a
pleasant thought,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re right. It doesn’t.’
‘Did he have a home help or any family member caring for him?’
‘Not as far as we’re aware.’
‘Unfortunately, abuse of the elderly isn’t uncommon. Even within the family.’ Sissons threw his paper cup into the bin. ‘A full report should be with you in a couple of
days, Sergeant, and I’ll pass the clothing on to forensics.’
McNab registered the bite of the wind as he exited the new Southern General Hospital and its £90-million state of the art mortuary and forensic facilities. Gone were the
days of the old red-brick mortuary next to the Crown Court in the Saltmarket where the victims of Scottish serial killers such as Bible John and Peter Manuel had had their post-mortems. McNab
regretted the old mortuary’s passing, but was still impressed by the move to what Glasgow folk had, in their inimitable manner, christened ‘The Death Star’, because of its
space-age design.
And at least you can park here
, he thought as he located his car in the mammoth car park. Once inside, he checked his mobile. There was a message from DI Wilson requesting his presence
and a text from Freya saying she was working on her thesis tonight and couldn’t see him. Nothing from Chrissy and Rhona. It seemed Sanday was proving more interesting than the case
they’d left behind.
McNab started up the engine, wondering why no message from Orkney was more disappointing than Freya’s rejection.
11
The vastness of an Orkney sky was what Rhona remembered most about her last trip here. On Skye the mountains dominated, controlling where light and shadow fell.
Here the sky is bigger than the land or the sea.
Walking home now along the rough track that led to the cottage, the heavens a mass of purple and red, deep blue and black, even Chrissy appeared momentarily silenced by the sight. Either that or
hunger and fatigue had taken over.
They had worked until the diminishing daylight no longer allowed them to distinguish the stratification of the soils. It had been a painstaking business. Working in from the grave cut,
recovering fill longitudinally in spits or small sections no more than
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